


A Long Way from Clitheroe

by GillNotJill (Wynja2007)



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Queer as Folk (UK)
Genre: M/M, What You Wish For; Bigger on the Inside; Lonely; Shubunkins; Best Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-10-05 17:31:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10313426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/GillNotJill
Summary: When Vince meets a stranger on his way back from Canal Street, he has no idea just who he's just invited home...





	1. Run

**Author's Note:**

  * For [telemachus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/gifts).



It wasn’t even late yet. It was so early people were still arriving, by bus, but no, Stuart had already Found The One, for the night, of course, so, here you go, Vince. Take my car home. Only parked around the corner…

Vince turned up the collar of his thin shirt against the rain. He didn’t mind. Not really; it was Stuart, it was what he did. Should be used to it by now. Best mates, yeah, this is what you do.

‘Only round the corner? Which corner?’ Vince muttered, passing a straggle of trannies who called and waved. ‘Yeah, have a nice night, ladies, but I’ve seen who’s in tonight, so good luck with that…’

Round the corner…

…flashing blue lights everywhere, a hole in the tarmac behind barricades, coppers all over the place, so better go the long way round…  
…and wouldn’t you know it, there’s the jeep, but between him and it, under the dark of a bridge, shadows moving, catcalls… local skins come queer-bashing and, oh, lord, he was too far down the street to back off now, they’d clocked him…

Vince swallowed. If he legged it, he might be able to get back to the lights, the police cars, before they caught him up. Might. But…

A large hand closed over his, warm, comforting, like when you’re lost and your mum finds you again. But this wasn’t a woman’s hand and the voice that came with it was deep, commanding, male.

‘Run,’ it said.

No longer alone, Vince ran. With a yell the mob gave chase.

The stranger led him down a dark passage that led to the Rochdale Canal, along the tow path, back up a flight of steps and between the backs of buildings, through a yard, and finally out into the bright lights once more, just in time to lead the yobs right amongst the police before dashing away around the corner to safety. The strong fingers unwound from Vince’s and, out of breath, they both braced hands on thighs and sucked in lungsful of air, laughing and gasping. 

Vince glanced at his companion and, oh, my god. Oh, my god, if you had to be rescued, yes, this is who you wanted to be rescued by… tall, as in, really tall and broad, black leather coat, wide shoulders, yes, oh, bit of a nose going on, and ears, oh, my god, those ears… but, still, ruggedly handsome with his dark hair and time to stop looking now and try not to mess this up.

‘You all right?’ the stranger asked. ‘You look a bit shook up…’

Northern, too. Local, by the sound of it, and Vince knew his accents pretty well. They played this game, in the shop, where are the customers from, and usually he could put them within a couple of miles, but this was more generic Northern, and…

The stranger was looking at him with a sort of detached compassion that made Vince feel strangely weak and giddy.

‘Yeah,’ Vince said. ‘I’m all right. But thanks, I don’t usually go that way but my mate parked his car and gave me the keys, and then there was the police cordon so I had to go round, and…’

‘Well, glad to have helped. Better be off, then.’

‘Oh.’ Vince straightened up. ‘Can I buy you a drink, to say thanks? There’s some nice bars down here, well, when I say nice, maybe not your sort of nice, or then again, who knows? But…’

‘Don’t suppose you know where we are, do you?’ the stranger asked. 

‘Canal Street, Manchester.’ He didn’t add, ‘of course’, although how could you sound that local and not know…?

‘I was heading for Clitheroe when I was pulled off course… Wrong turn, took a wrong turn.’

‘Clitheroe?’ A laugh in Vince’s voice, too high, maybe from nerves. ‘It’s miles, is Clitheroe. You're miles off.’

A little cluster of revellers passed close by, singing and clutching each other, laughing, swinging handbags, tottering in heels; all men, of course, and the stranger’s brow furrowed, just a little. 

‘You know, I think…’ his voice dropped, softened, became bewildered. ‘I think I’m lost.’

Vince took a breath; he had a story for this sort of thing and he desperately wanted to keep the man talking.

‘I was lost, once,’ he said. ‘It was awful; never been so frightened in my life. What happened was, see, we were in Kwiksave, over in the deli aisle, only you didn’t call it that then, it was cold meats, well, there never will be a deli aisle in the Kwicky, let’s face it, and they were arguing with my mum about a pack of ham in her bag… she said she’d bought it two days ago and had forgotten it was there, and no, she didn’t have the receipt, and they said it sounded suspicious, so she said well, it’s gone off, look, so how come it was off, they didn’t ought to stock meat that was off anyway, did they? She might of given that to her little boy for tea and then if he got poorly she’d sue… And so then one of them took hold of her elbow and she swore at him, and there was this bloke, a really big bloke, and she hit him with her handbag and that’s when I got frightened and ran off, and then I found the cereal and started reading the Shreddies, they had ever such good stories on the boxes, and this nice lady found me and let me play with her pricing gun while they looked for my mum.’

The stranger was staring at him with a mixture of awe and horror. Breathing in again, Vince carried on, not one to leave a story unfinished.

‘And that’s why I work in a supermarket now, I think, that nice lady and the pricing gun. And thinking, you shouldn’t accuse people like my mum and upset them. So I thought I could make a difference. I’m assistant manager now. Not in Kwiksave, of course.’

A shake of the head.

‘Do you ever shut up?’

Vince grinned. ‘Only when my mouth’s full. I mean – that is… I had tonsillitis once, couldn’t talk for a week… my mum said it was like living in a morgue. I know she didn’t mean it like that, she meant it was quiet, not that I looked like death warmed up, but…’ Vince broke off, swallowed. He wanted, he so wanted… and the bloke had held his hand, that must mean he was up for it, right? What would Stuart do? Bloke wouldn’t have had a chance, they’d be at Stuart’s place already, probably naked, oh, god, oh, my god, this bloke naked would be magnificent… Stuart… he’d have licked his lips, wriggled his shoulders and said, ‘wanna come back to mine…?’ in that slow Irish drawl of his and of course, they would, but he was Vince, he wasn’t Stuart, and the best he could do was shrug and say ‘I’ve got an A to Z in my flat. It’s not far, if you’d… if you like.’

‘What, me go wandering off with a stranger in the middle of Manchester?’

‘Sorry. Vince, Vince Tyler.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Vince Tyler. I’m… John Smith.’

The pause made him wonder, but there was something familiar about the name – not just because it was a common name – so Vince nodded and let it go. And John Smith had extended a hand for him to shake, and the contact went on, and on, as if neither of them knew how to stop.

‘Your place?’ Smith said, disentangling himself.

‘Right. This way.’

The made it to the jeep without mishap and Vince drove through the streets to Fallowfield.

‘…it’s not much, but it’s home, and there’s a separate bedroom, and own bath,’ Vince said over his shoulder as he jiggled the key in the door, ‘so that’s good, and come in… What would you like to drink, there’s beer, and tea, I’ve got tea, or coffee, oh, and I can run to a gin and tonic, or just water if you’ve been drinking, but you haven’t, have you?’

‘No, have you?’

‘Not driving Stuart’s car home, course not, only... oh, my god, Stuart’s car… still, it’ll be all right, I hope, local kids, real vandals they are, rip it to bits first chance… now, drink?’

‘Tea, thank you… and… hello!’ 

Smith had found the fish tank and was standing in front of it looking at the inhabitants. Well. More sort of staring, really…

‘Shubunkins,’ Vince said, putting the kettle on. ‘I like them, nice and calming, fish are.’

‘Can I just ask…? What have you got in there with them?’

‘Just a couple of Comets, I don’t like the really fancy sorts, personally, you know, the body shapes don’t look right to me, and…’

‘No, not what other fish… the… that…?’

‘Oh, haven’t you ever seen Doctor Who? I mean, I know not everyone does, but you don’t know a Dalek when you see one? Or…’

‘Yes, I know a Dalek when I see one, Vince Tyler…’ Smith whirled away from the tank and put his hands on Vince’s shoulders, looking into his eyes. Vince felt his knees tremble and bit back a sigh. ‘Thing is, how come you do? Now, listen, I need you to tell me everything, and I mean everything you know about it, all right?’

‘Brilliant, yeah, shall we sit down? I can put a tape on for you if you like, a video…’

‘No; I mean, the Dalek, you shouldn’t know anything about them and here you are in a little tiny flat with a tiny little model Dalek. In a fish tank. So tell me how you know?’ Smith pulled a card from his pocket, thrusting it at Vince. ‘Tell me, go on? Or do you not see what it says there?’

Vince started, boggled, looked up at Smith and began to grin. For a moment the words swam and slurred in front of his eyes before settling…

_“The Doctor,” it said. “Yes, really. I’m the Doctor, Number nine. It’s true, it’s all true, yes, it really is me… just like…”_

‘Oh, my god!’ he said. ‘It’s you! It says, I’m the Doctor, yes, it really is me!’ He laughed. ‘Magnificent!’ 

‘What?’ Smith snatched the card back, scowled at the paper. ‘… _”just like on TV, only this time_ ”…’

‘John Smith, of course! Third Doctor, “Spearhead from Space”, that’s the name he used!’ Vince bit his lower lip. ‘All this time, I knew you were real, had to be! They couldn’t make you up!’

‘I… but… what’s happened? You’re not supposed to know about me, not here, not now… I don’t… Videos, you said. What did you mean, videos?’

‘You’re real, you are!’ 

Overwhelmed by it all, and unaware he was flushed pink with excitement, Vince flung his arms around the Doctor.

‘I am, yeah…’ The Doctor patted at Vince’s shoulder. ‘You’re pretty real yourself, do you mind…?’

‘Sorry. It’s just…’ Vince lifted his eyebrows, eyes dancing. ‘Oh, my god!’

‘Here, let me see that!’ The Doctor took back the card, frowning at it. ‘I don’t know what’s happened; it’s never done that before!’

‘That’s usually my line!’ Vince said, laughing, shaking his head. ‘What d’you mean, though?’

‘Psychic paper. It tells people what they expect to see, sort of… gives me an excuse to get into places, or out of trouble…’ He sighed as the lettering faded from the paper. ‘So. It’s told you what you need to believe, but it told you who I really am; it never does that!’

‘Of course, if it really is what you say, it might have told me that and you could be… oh, I don’t know, you could be the Master in disguise, but…’

‘Now, hang on!’ the Doctor put in. ‘There’s no need to insult me!’

‘I didn’t mean…’ Vince faltered again, still reeling from the shock. ‘Oh, my god!’

‘Yeah, you said that. Cup of tea, was there? And just how do you know about me again?’


	2. Army Surplus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stuart makes a new 'friend'...

Stuart scowled to himself, not letting his mood reach his face in case it spoiled his good looks.

He shouldn’t have let Vince take the car keys, so, yes, it might have looked like the blonde with the dimples was the one for the night, but that was before the garlic breath hit… why hadn’t Vince stopped him, why didn’t anyone ever stop him…? It wasn’t his fault, was it, if nobody bothered to stop him and now Vince was gone and the blond reeling in the toilets, still, and Stuart trying to take the taste away of the garlic with beer, but it wasn’t helping much…

He was just about to call Vince and tell him to come and get him, when the man burst into the bar as if the hounds of hell were after him, looking round wildly. 

Interested, Stuart forgot all about calling Vince and turned to lean back against the bar, shimmying his hips, every movement a come on, as he checked out the cause of the sudden draught.

Big bloke. Nice.

More than nice, short, dark hair, classic good looks, cleft chin… hmm… you could have fun with a cleft chin if you were clever enough… odd clothes, even for here; something like a military greatcoat worn over black leather trousers and boots; the glimpse of white at the neck suggesting a t-shirt. Army Surplus meets boy-next-door.

Very nice.

Other blokes were looking, of course, weighing up the stranger, probably wondering if he was lost, or a tourist, or genuinely up for it.

Well. Only one way to find out…

Stuart segued across, his walk more of a dance, nowhere near a mince, turning to make sure his assets were shown to as many people as possible because, after all... 

The stranger had done a kind of double-take by now, a puzzled expression growing on his face, but not as fast as the smile was… nice. Many, many teeth, American teeth, perhaps, a grin that broad...

Big Benny was on his way over from near the toilets, but Stuart inserted his hips between two guys talking and twisted, breaking through and arriving next to the newcomer while Big Benny was still navigating past the tables.

‘Hi there,’ Stuart said, bringing his mouth close to the stranger’s ear, pretending the loudness of the background music warranted the intimacy. ‘Not seen you here before.’

‘That’s because I haven’t been here before,’ the man said, warily friendly until he noticed the intensity of Stuart’s gaze, the open-lipped smile, the hint of extreme personal grooming. He smiled suddenly, all those teeth a blinding beacon, straightened his shoulders in an on-the-spot strut. ‘Captain Jack Harkness, at your service.’

He thrust out a hand for Stuart to shake and, of course, it was impossible not to extend his own hand, careful not to exert too much pressure. Didn’t want him thinking he was too manly… and there it was, that extra squeeze in the contact, the warmth.

‘Stuart Alan Jones,’ he replied, blinking a fraction too slowly and tilting his head a little to the side, his come-on semi-smile promising understated miracles. ‘Do you want a drink?’

‘Not a bad idea, Stuart Alan Jones. Is it always this loud in Clitheroe?’

‘This isn’t Clitheroe; it’s Canal Street. Do you want to come back to mine? It’ll be quieter there.’

‘Sounds great. Lead on, Stuart.’

Big Benny hovered on the perimeter, scowling. Stuart cast his eyes modestly down, smiling under his breath. No chance, Benny. Not with the master around.

The stranger’s arm was already round Stuart’s waist as they left the bar.

*

Somehow, while they’d been watching ‘Genesis of the Daleks,’ John Smith’s arm had gone from being stretched out along the back of the shoulder, to casually draped around Vince’s shoulders; he couldn’t really remember if it had been chance, or luck, or casual wriggling had made it happen, but it still felt very nice…

‘Didn’t look a bit like that,’ John Smith said as the end credits rolled. ‘I didn’t. Remember the hat, though, and the scarf… Jelly Babies…?’

‘Still a thing,’ Vince said with a grin. ‘My mum always gets me a pack for Christmas. She’s good like that, my mum. She…’

‘Your mum sounds fantastic,’ the Doctor said. ‘But can we leave her out of it for now? You’ve got more of these… things?’

‘Loads, yeah. Would you like to watch another? I love the Doctor, I do… What about Spearhead From Space? First to be broadcast in colour, first to introduce John Pertwee in the role? In that one, the Doctor’s just been exiled to Earth and he comes up against the Autons, and Living Plastic, and…’

John Smith shuddered and shifted his arm from around Vince’s shoulders to sit hunched over his clasped hands, staring at the now-blank TV screen.

‘Er, no,’ he said. ‘That’s quite enough of that.’ He sighed and ducked his head. ‘They promised,’ he went on. ‘Just around our own system, they said. Everyone’ll be interested, they said. And they do this to me? This???’

‘I don’t… what did who do?’

‘The Betelgeuse Broadstreaming Community. I agreed to do an eye-on-the-wall series for them, you know, hover-cam, sort of thing? Of course, not all of it was live, some of the scenes were, well, a bit messy, and they wanted to broadcast to the first-stage larvae, so it couldn’t be too strong… they got body doubles in and recreated some of the off-world scenes, too… come to think of it, if what we just saw is anything to go by, there was a lot of reconstruction… and some of the details went awry…’

‘I spotted a few continuity issues. But to be fair…

‘Did all that for a new interlinear temporal shift converter and they swore blind they wouldn’t export anywhere near you lot. Signed things, too. Of course, they might say that marketing it as fiction makes all the difference, but there’s sensitive material in here…’ He picked up a video tape of ‘The Twin Dilemma’ and waved it at Vince. ‘Oh, and that number six? I never looked a bit like that!’

Vince grinned. ‘Glad to hear it,’ he said. ‘So, tell me, then…’

‘Oh, no! You can’t expect me to be remembering every little detail of every thing that ever happened to me, especially not when it’s been recreated and reconstructed and I can’t tell what really happened and what’s been fiddled with any more, and…’

‘No, no. I just wanted to ask… is that why we never see you – him – the Doctor – getting, you know… friendly… because it’s for erm, larvae, did you say?’

‘I did, I did say that, but I like to think I’m always friendly, unless you’re trying to kill me, and even then, well, I try not to take it personally… Oh. Ohhhh, you mean… ‘friendly’…? Well, to be honest, not much of a one for romance, not when I’m working…’

Vince swallowed. His shoulders felt cold from where the Doctor’s arm had rested, and he wasn’t sure he should say anything, but he knew he’d always regret it if he didn’t at least try…

‘Are you working now?’ he blurted out.

‘Yeah, yes, I am, as a matter of fact. There’s a rogue time agent out there with a gadget from long away and far ago and he’s using it to play games with, and I’ve been asked to track him down before he messes up the timeline and…’ The Doctor noticed the slump of Vince’s shoulders, drew his brows together in a puzzled frown. ‘Oh, I see… I think… Well, maybe… not a lot I can do, this time of night, is there? Not going to get to Clitheroe tonight, am I? Maybe I should take a few hours off. Everyone needs a few hours off, yeah? What do you think?’

‘I… well, yeah, you don’t want to be out there in the dark, do you? If you want to stay…’

‘Vince Tyler, I think that’s the best idea you’ve had yet!’

‘…we could watch another tape…’

‘No, I’ve got an even better idea,’ Smith said, getting to his feet and extending a hand towards Vince. ‘If you want to watch the Doctor, what do you want to bother with videos for when you’ve got the real thing right here? One night only, one time offer… come on, then, Vince, before I change my mind, those pretty eyes of yours are just too sad. You said you love the Doctor, so… prove it.’


	3. The Mornings After the Nights Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which morning follows night in two Manchester households...

Stuart led the way into the flat. While most people might say, humble abode, it isn’t much, but it’s home, Stuart didn’t – because it was much, it was a huge open-plan apartment in a converted warehouse, all exposed brickwork and smooth floors, industrial, minimalist chic. Leaving Captain Jack to follow, he crossed to the fridge and pulled the door wide, knowing its internal light, brighter than the mood lighting in the flat, would act like a spotlight on him.

Stuart Alan Jones, centre stage...

Once, he’d seen a guy do just this, take out a bottle of water, neck half of it and then pour the rest over his hair, shaking his head like a dog that’s just had a bath. To teenage Stuart, it had been the sexiest thing he’d ever seen and he repeated it now, just for the captain.

Turning, he looked to see if the performance had had the desired effect, but it was he who blinked in surprise.

Jack was already down to his jeans, revealing a strong, well-proportioned body without a hint of modesty. He shrugged, all muscles, and grinned, all teeth, all the better to eat you with.

‘Is it hot in here?’ he asked. ‘Or is it just us?’

Stuart felt a smile beginning, growing, until it felt like Jack’s grin on his face. Cheshire cats, both of them, about to get the cream.

‘It’s cooler over here,’ he said with a twist of his head towards a tall, narrow window, open for air behind long shutters. He took a breathing pause. ‘Near the bed.’

‘Now, that’s a fortuitous arrangement!’ 

If anything, Jack’s grin broadened, and he toyed absently with the strap of a bulky watch on his wrist, the sort that had its own moulded cover. He saw Stuart’s eyes following his movements, gave a shrug. 

‘This little thing? Bit of a souvenir, you might say. Strap’s a bit fiddly. Anyway. Won’t get in the way, I promise. Right?’

Stuart nodded. 

‘Won’t be the first time someone’s wanted to wear something special in bed.’ He managed to make it sound provocative, and continued over to the huge divan, all fresh, white sheets and quality pillows, peeling off clothes as he went, careful to keep the lilt in his walk. By the time he got there, and turned, Jack was down to his skin – but for the chunky watch – and the smile.

This was the moment where there sometimes was a pause, a weighing-up, who would make the first move? Who reach for whom? And while Stuart would sometimes wait a heartbeat or two longer than strictly necessary, just to show them who was in charge, tonight…

Tonight he was more lust-hungry than he could remember being in weeks. Months. Perhaps even…

The thought broke off as he and Jack crashed together and fell into the tide of white bedding to drown in the sheets.

…wisps of sweat, slick skin, sliding bodies, mouths and hands and gasps and… fuck, no! Twat was a screamer… good job the neighbours… fuck the neighbours… and… Fuck, he was big… and more… and who was where and what was happening to whom and it all blended into more screams, he’d have to say in the morning, fuck the morning… Jack was laughing, how could he be laughing and screaming at the same time…?

…time passing, how many times? Enough, no, not enough, and finally a sigh and sleep…

…awake again, hands on him, his mouth searching, an impossible blur and rise and gasp and…

Finally emerging from the covers in a brightness of morning, the awareness of something hot and heavy beside him.

‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ Jack said in amused, sated tones. ‘You know, you’re fun. Think I’ll keep you.’

‘Fuck off.’

Somehow, it came out more like a mumble, no… a purr…

What the fuck???

He opened his eyes to find Jack’s gimlet blue gaze laughing into his face as his senses filled up with a return of the lust and longing. He tried to sit up – this wasn’t like him, lingering in bed, for fuck’s sake, and… 

But all he could do was move closer in something suspiciously like a nestle.

‘Fuck’s sake!’ he murmured, trying to push away again. One night and somehow this American Boy Wonder had turned him into a… a nestler??? He wasn’t having that…

‘Steady on there, Stuart Jones!’ Harkness said with a rich laugh, toying with that stupid watch again. ‘I know I’m a bit much to take, so just you hang on and I’ll find coffee…’

‘Fuck off!’ 

He managed to say it this time and made his limbs behave, dragging himself from the tangled sheets and hitting the shower, not caring what Harkness made of this. 

No, really, not caring.

Not even when Jack joined him in the shower and got busy with the Aramis-scented shower gel in ways it really wasn’t intended to be used…

The combined efforts of Jack’s playfulness and the hot water brought him round a bit, so that when he staggered from the shower swathed in towels thoughtfully draped across him by the American, he felt rather more awake.

Until he saw what had happened to the mirrors.

‘The pens. The new pens…’

‘Yes.’ Jack’s voice came from the shower, muffled by the towel he was rubbing through his hair. ‘You wanted to show me what you could do with them. About three a.m. if I remember right. Must admit, I was pretty glad you just wanted to write on the walls with them…’

‘Walls as well? Why didn’t you stop me? Why doesn’t anyone ever stop me???’

‘Oh, I don’t know. More fun to see what happens, maybe.’

‘I didn’t do this!’ Stuart exclaimed, staring at where a mirror was decorated with a huge heart bearing the legend ‘SAJ + CJH 4EVA’ across its once-reflective surface in a riot of colours. ‘That’s not my writing!’

‘Sure as hell isn’t mine.’ Harkness laid a hand on Stuart’s shoulder. ‘So unless there’s someone else here you don’t know about… Come on. Coffee. Everything’s better after coffee.’

*

‘I don’t mind coffee,’ Vince was saying, talking so fast his words threatened to trip each other up. ‘But I like tea first thing. Gentler.’

He clutched the sheets closer to his chin, staring up at his cobwebby and cracked ceiling. He gulped, not daring to look at the other occupant of his bed, just in case he wasn’t really there. 

‘But I can make coffee, if you like. Instant, it’s just instant, but…’

‘Vince Tyler, good morning, and shush.’

The mattress dipped as the not-inconsiderable weight of the Doctor shifted as he propped himself up on one elbow to look at his host.

‘Tea doesn’t matter,’ the Doctor went on. ‘Coffee doesn’t matter. What matters is…’

‘Yeah.’

‘…is are you all right? I mean, you were very quiet… considering, and then you launch into tea or coffee at me..’

‘Fine, yeah.’ Vince stirred, relaxed his death-grip on the sheets just a little. ‘I just… you’re still here, you’re actually here, oh, my God, you are, and… and you’re still him…’

‘Yeah.’ The Doctor grinned, waved with his free hand. ‘Hello. The Doctor here. Now, if you’re done wittering on bout tea and coffee, how’s about we just have a bit of a cuddle, eh?’

‘Sounds like a plan.’ Vince relaxed, allowed himself to fold in against the Doctor. He sighed.

‘What?’

Vince shook his head, smiling against the strong chest, remembering. Believing. Listening and feeling.

‘No, really, what?’

‘Do you ever get used to this?’ he asked. ‘Two heartbeats!’

‘Well, no. Or, yes, used to it, why wouldn’t I be? It’s me. But not anyone else. Not usually even one heartbeat to wake up to. Not even batteries.’

‘Batteries?’ Vince asked with a laugh in his voice.

‘No, not… batteries as in… but as in, battery-powered life-forms. Not everyone’s organic and gooey, you know.’

‘Still. Two heartbeats! Two hearts!’ Vince laughed again. ‘It’s like you’ve got your own samba band in there! How do you manage?’

‘And there’s me wondering how you manage with just the one.’

The Doctor cuddled Vince closer, dropped a kiss on his forehead. Sweet. That was Vince, top and bottom of him, sweet, and quiet, and so scared of hurting anyone’s feelings he dithered and blathered and always, always got it wrong. Not that he knew for sure, of course, but it was a pretty good bet, listening to the things not-said amongst the treasure of Vince’s words.

‘Well, usually they’re not racketing about like this,’ the Doctor said into Vince’s hair. ‘You did that. You. Vince Tyler, got my pulses racing and my hearts pounding when I thought all that was behind me. Or ahead of me, but certainly not right in front of me where I could just reach out and touch.’ He covered Vince’s hand with his own, steered it to rest over one of his twin hearts. ‘There, this one’s calming a bit. That’s my working heart, I suppose. Keeps me ticking over. This other one, now, this one’s a bit special.’ He swallowed, amazed at what he found himself intending to say, decided to say it anyway. ‘This is my feeling heart, Vince, and if you could look into it, you’d find yourself in there, looking out. Somehow, you’re in there, wedged in, Vince. No idea how, but there you are.’

Silence from the pretty-eyed young ape in his arms. Well, almost silence. A soft, gentle rasping timed to the in-breath and out-breath…

‘Vince Tyler! I’ve just confessed to falling in love with you, is that all right?’

The sibilant rasping again. The Doctor sighed, kissed the top of Vince’s head.

‘Hmf? Oh, yeah, yeah, fine… tea, is it?’

The Doctor laughed to himself, gathered Vince in. ‘Tea’s lovely,’ he said. ‘But… no rush.’

‘What about Clitheroe? It’s a long way to Clitheroe…’

‘Well, yeah, I suppose. Good job I’ve got a fancy ride.’

‘The TARDIS?’ Vince really woke up now. ‘That’s here too?’

‘Of course. Thought we went over that last night. Police cordon, big hole in the ground? That’s where we landed…’

‘Landed?’

‘Touched down. All right, crashed. Pulled off course, remember? Was going to stroll up, flash the psychic paper, then saw you about to get into bother and I couldn’t help myself…’

‘Yeah. Sorry. And thanks. It’s just… bit much to take in, the Doctor AND the TARDIS… and there was me going to offer to give you a lift. It’s my day off, I’ve got Stuart’s car… I think he won’t mind… no, ‘course he won’t mind… but… Oh, my God, Stuart’s car! I’ve got Stuart’s car…’

‘Yeah.’ The Doctor bit back a sigh and sat up; Vince was suddenly wide awake and behaving as if all the Daleks on Skaro were after him. ‘Stuart’s car. You said.’

‘He’s going to want it back… hang on. It’s Saturday, he won’t be awake yet.’

‘Well, that’s all right, then.’ And because he couldn’t really think of anything else to suggest that looked likely to get any agreement, the Doctor smiled in his friendly sort of way. ‘Cup of tea, did you say?’


	4. '...A Bit Samarra, If You Ask Me...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Doctor ponders the likelihood of coincidence...

‘Feel better?’

Stuart glared at the captain who had, it must be said, conjured up a magnificent cup of coffee from the machine. Well, he tried to glare; he found his mouth, and his thoughts, softening in a very odd way. Fucking Anita must have sold him dog worming tablets or something, although…

…couldn’t remember taking anything. Buying anything from anyone, never mind Anita…

‘Maybe,’ he admitted. ‘Could do with a refill. Since you offered.’

‘Oh, I offered, did I?’ Jack shifted position, easily lounging, fidgeting with the watch again. ‘There’s plenty more in the carafe, handsome. Help yourself.’

‘Fuck’s sake! Do I have to do everything myself?’ 

Somehow, the protest came out half-hearted, and found himself complying, no, actually filling both their cups…

Something wasn’t right here, he was turning into fucking Stepford Stuart…

‘Hey, bit hungry here. You got anything to eat? You wouldn’t want me to faint from hunger, would you?’

‘No. Maybe. Look in the fridge, it’s one of those shiny things there.’

‘Could probably do with something solid inside you yourself.’

‘Hmf.’ Stuart ignored the potential innuendo and took his coffee into the open-plan sitting area. The white sofa was fine, pristine, at least he hadn’t used the pens on that, though… the walls were a mess… no idea what he’d been trying to say, but he was sure he hadn’t drawn half of it, not flowers, not him… have to get the painters in…

‘Fridge is coming up on empty,’ Jack called over, voice muffled.

‘There’s a café on the street to the left, you’ll see it when you leave.’

‘Throwing me out?’ The voice was amused. ‘Before breakfast? That’s not cool, Stuart Jones, not cool at all, not when I’ve got to get all the way to Clitheroe…’

‘Fuck’s sake…’ Stuart reached for his phone, pressed buttons, began speaking before he heard the voice at the other end of the call. ‘Vince, Vince, listen. Need my car right away. And breakfast. Breakfast for two, more if you’re having some. Get over here, hurry. Got a twat here won’t go away unless I feed him.’

*

‘Tea and toast!’ the Doctor exclaimed. ‘Fantastic! Really know how to push the boat out, you!’

Vince shook his head, looking down at his plate.

‘Wasn’t expecting company, you know, for breakfast.’ He flushed. ‘Really, really wasn’t expecting you. This.’

Before he could get any more embarrassed and launch off into a story about how he usually did have more in for breakfast than toast and jam, how he often had to go round to Stuart’s with bacon and eggs and bread, his phone rang and he grabbed at in something like relief to hear Stuart himself demanding his car, and breakfast, for two – no, three – right now…

‘Can I bring a friend?’ he asked. ‘Only I…’

‘A friend? A friend? Did you cop off last night, then? You did, you copped off, taking off in my car… bet it was the car, wasn’t it? What’s he like, go on, tell me? Any good?’

‘Stu-art…!’ Vince slid the phone to his other ear, as if that would take Stuart’s awkward questions away from the Doctor. ‘Yes, he’s…’

‘Good for you, bring him along, I’ll check him out for you. And hurry up, last night’s wants to get to Clitheroe.’

Stuart closed the call, leaving Vince staring at the phone and the Doctor staring at him.

‘Problems, Vince?’

‘What? Oh, no, no… Funny, that. Stuart’s date from last night’s headed to Clitheroe, too. Bit of a coincidence.’

‘Coincidence, yeah. Or not. It’s all a bit Samarra, if you ask me.’

‘What?’ Vince asked, a puzzled laugh in his voice.

‘You know. Ancient story, Baghdad, bloke sees Death waving at him in the market place. He panics, as you would, I suppose, runs home and asks his master to give him his horse so he can get away, heads for Samarra. So the merchant agrees, but then goes down to the market and finds Death himself, asks him what’s going on. “Oh,” Death says, “I was just a bit surprised to spot him here, is all. Meant to be meeting him later on, in Samarra…” It seems a bit like that, only with Clitheroe as the main attraction. I don’t even know what’s in Clitheroe? What’s Clitheroe got that anywhere else hasn’t?’

‘Um… it’s got a castle,’ Vince said, gulping his tea down. ‘And a famous sausage shop.’

‘Really? Now, I’d go a long way for a good sausage, but that’s stretching a point… Oh, going somewhere, are we?’

‘Stuart’s place,’ Vince said. ‘He wants his car. And to take breakfast over, he said.’

‘Ah.’ The Doctor finished his toast, watching as Vince flurried round the flat, picking things up and putting them down in a confusion of displacement activity. ‘And do you always do what this Stuart says?’

‘It’s his car,’ Vince said. ‘And he’s my friend. Best mates, we were at school together and everything. He’d do the same for me. You’re invited too.’

‘Okay, yeah. Might as well see who this mysterious bloke is who also needs to get to Clitheroe. And meet your friend. It’ll be nice. Is he nice, your friend? Well, obviously you think so, or you wouldn’t be friends…’

‘Yeah, he’s nice. Well, yeah, he’s very popular is Stuart. Got it all. Car, flat, high-powered job. Spends more on shirts than most people do on food for a year, but he earns it. Course, not when we were kids, he was just… Stuart… Um… Oh, my God, the car!’ 

Vince paused in his dithering flurry to head for the window.

‘It’s the kids, you see, the local kids… like to pull bits off it, Stuart’s car… he doesn’t seem to care, but…’ Vince pulled back the corner of the curtain and peered down. ‘What the…?’

Down in the street, a surly circle of children were looking with disgruntled sulks towards the jeep. One approached, stopped, shrugged and stepped back.

‘Oh, yeah. Heard them earlier, while you were in your bath. I thought it sounded like mischief so I, er…’ The Doctor took something from his pocket, long, metallic, shiny. ‘I sonicked them. Sonic screwdriver, can’t beat it. Just put in a little exclusion zone, reversed the polarity and there you are. Little sticky fingers try to touch, bit of a zap, nothing nasty…’

‘Oh, my God…’ Vince laughed. ‘Look at them! Just look at them! Erm… if you’ve finished your toast…?’

‘Yeah, all done, all ready. Just one thing before we go.’

‘Yes?’

The Doctor cupped Vince’s face in his hands, kissed him lightly.

‘In case I don’t get a chance later.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘I like you, Vince Tyler, I like you a lot, I’d like to show you the universe, I think you’d get a lot out of it, so if you’re not busy later, come see the TARDIS from the inside? Now, where’s my coat?’

*

Vince’s fists were clenched on the steering wheel of Stuart’s car, knuckles white. Next to him, lounging easily, the Doctor frowned to himself, wondering at the tension that seemed to have grown in his companion… not quite companion yet, though. And why, really, why? After all this time, how had it happened, why had he fallen for this pretty-eyed young ape who seemed to have such a complicated simple life, somehow, with his mother and his friend and his videos and his job…

And after everything Vince had said about how he loved the Doctor, and the show that had somehow escaped reality TV to end up here, rebranded as science fiction, he’d expected swoons of joy, whoops of glee, chorus invoking the deity when he’d suggested a quick once around the universe in the TARDIS…

Instead, the lad had faltered, shaking his head, blushing again and his eyes downcast.

‘I…I can’t,’ he’d said. ‘It’s… my mum, and… Stuart, and…’

‘Time machine, remember?’ the Doctor had prompted. ‘There and back before you know it. Or just a look inside, I’ve had some work done, want to see what you think. Unbiased opinion. That’s all, no commitment if you don’t want. Promise I won’t whisk you off anywhere unless you want whisking…?'

But Vince had just given a sickly half smile and murmured something about ‘thinking about it’ before swallowing hard and changing the subject to more practical matters.

‘There’s a corner shop on the way, better stop there for bacon and stuff, it’s nearer and, anyway, day off, don’t want to be showing my face… Shall I get sausages? I might get sausages… although if I do come with you to Clitheroe, there’s that sausage shop there… but perhaps that’s too late for breakfast… oh, them kids have gone, look. Did you turn off that thing you did, or are we going to get zapped, too? I don’t mind, not if it’s you doing the zapping, but…’

‘No, it’s fine.’ The Doctor gave a cheery smile. ‘All sorted. Corner shop, you said? Corner shops are good, you know the people you’re buying from. Continuity and supporting your community and all that.’

So now they were bowling along towards the promised corner shop and Vince was clutching the steering wheel like an anchor. And the Doctor had no idea what he’d said or done, or how to unsay or undo it. Only thing he was sure of – Vince was too sweet to just let him talk himself out of the chance of a lifetime…

Corner shop. He stayed in the car while Vince went to get the makings of breakfast for Stuart and Stuart’s visitor, and wondered what he could possibly do to make things right again.

‘I meant it, you know,’ he began as Vince returned to the jeep with a tale of not enough streaky so he’d had to get back as well, only there’d been no smoked rindless so he hoped that would be all right, and at least there were eggs and he was sure Stuart wouldn’t have any bread and what’s better, brown or red sauce with bacon butties, he always liked red himself but Stuart… ‘I meant it. About the hearts. You. Being lodged in one already, like you’ve always been there, I know you heard me, I know you weren’t really asleep. Maybe you have always been there, maybe I visited you once in my first incarnation and forgot… but then, could I cross your timeline again? Suppose I could if you didn’t know who I was, or what I was doing, and if it wasn’t the same moment, but… well. There it is, Vince. You. Mattering to me and I don’t know how it happened. So why not give up just a few minutes of your time and come for a spin with me? We could even go now, there’s a fridge in the TARDIS, keep the bacon cool…? Drop off at Clitheroe, get some sausages…?’

‘I…’ Vince flexed his fingers on the steering wheel but didn’t reach for the ignition. ‘It’s not, you know, you. You’re… you’re… oh, my God, you’re the Doctor, and you’re fantastic, and… I want to, but… what if… if you get tired of me?’

‘Simple. Drop you off, thank you very much, you can go back to your life… but I won’t.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t get tired of people, Vince. I don’t even outgrow them, I just… out live them.’ The Doctor ducked his head away. ‘Not always fun. But, Vince, you’d love it. You’d get such a lot out of it, and I know you wouldn’t be able to tell anyone, but…’

‘I’d have to come back, though. We could be away ten years and I’d come back and there’s Mum, just the same, only I’ve been away ten years. In my head. And… it’d be too hard to give you up, you’re just… I couldn’t. So. Better not to, eh?’ He started the engine. ‘Well. Better get on. Stuart’ll be starving, he always is when he’s copped off. I hope this one gave him a good workout, it’s about all the exercise he gets. Manage a second breakfast, could you?’

'Well, we had quite a workout ourselves, last night,' the Doctor replied, allowing the change of subject with a moment's regret. 'So yeah, think I can manage that.'


	5. Second Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vince and the Doctor arrive at Stuart's apartment and everyone eats breakfast, some more messily than others...

‘Fuck have you been?’ Stuart demanded as the lift doors racketed back and Vince and the Doctor stepped out into the apartment. ‘Starving here, and you taking your time and my car… who’s this, then?’

‘John Smith,’ the Doctor offered, nodding a greeting. ‘How d’you do?’

Stuart tipped his head and decided Vince, and the contents of his white plastic carrier bag, were probably more interesting. ‘Did you bring breakfast?’ he said, turning to his friend and seeing him almost with new eyes. ‘Vince, looking good…’ He drew the word out and gave Vince all his attention as his eyes flickered over him.

‘Have you always been this lovely? Did all right for yourself, then, making you blossom a bit? What did you bring to eat, then, come on, let’s see?’

‘Just bacon,’ Vince said with a laugh in his voice. ‘Like you asked, and eggs, bread… sauce…’

‘Let’s see, then. Get it out the bags, come on, I want to see my breakfast!’ 

Stuart slipped an arm round Vince’s shoulders for a moment, making his friend blink in surprise. Delighted surprise, because Stuart wasn’t usually this affectionate unless they were out or he was drunk or… but he didn’t mind. Liked it. Liked Stuart. Well, when he said “like”…

‘Bacon…’ Frying pan on, lard melting. ‘I got streaky, like you like, and smoked back, but the rinds are still on and… I can cut them off…’

‘Never mind. Bacon’s bacon.’

It wasn’t usually, but Vince could, as he said, cut the rinds off, and did so while Stuart watched.

‘Did you say you’d a friend stay?’ 

‘Oh, yeah. Tosser’s over there, somewhere. Never noticed before, the hands of you. Deft, sort of. Nice.’

‘Yeah?’ Vince grinned to himself, found margarine and began spreading it on bread. This was more like it! Yes, the Doctor was wonderful, amazing, but he’d be gone soon; it was just hero worship, full-blown fantasy, helluva night, but Stuart… Stuart was always here, would always be here, and he’d had someone back and still took time to say something nice to him… ‘Well, get some plates out, will you?’

Temporarily forgotten, the Doctor leaned back against an artfully-bare-brick wall and weighed up the scene before him. Young Vince seemed delighted at the attention from his best friend, almost puppy-pleased, and this Stuart – every inch of him quintessential perfection – draping himself over the lad in a way that, to judge from Vince’s response, wasn’t quite normal… but there was something between them, something… but Vince would have said, if there’d been anything going on, he would… still, this Stuart, all over him like a rash, didn’t look like just friends, even best friends… and if anything happened to hurt his Vince, he would… he’d… he’d be very, very angry, and…

And, yes, Vince was sweet, and had the prettiest eyes, and was so… so… and he’d made a huge impact, but here he was, impacting more and more, already wedged inside the Feeling Heart, there wasn’t room for more of him, but it was growing, this feeling, a mingling of lust and hungry need and affectionate warmth…

But the atmosphere was wrong, somehow. No, not the atmosphere… the air…

So what could make him fall even more in love with Vince than he had already been? It wasn’t normal, natural, expected…

The air, that was it; there was…

Before he could process the thought further, a cleared throat, a voice, and a large, bluffly good-looking-if-you-like-that-sort-of-thing man presented himself for notice. When he spoke, the accent was like the man; big and hearty, and… almost American… American, as if learned from TV or vidcasts… universal US…

‘Captain Jack Harkness, at your service, and well, hello, who might you be, may I ask?’

The grin was over-friendly, the strutting approach an intrusion into personal territory, a sudden hit of unfragranced scent burning that back of his nostrils and the Doctor knew, he knew…

‘You may, yeah,’ he said. ‘John Smith, Vince’s friend. How do?’ 

‘Ah… Heard about you – friend of Vince, friend of Stuart, and much better looking than Stuart guessed you’d be… and headed my way… Clitheroe? Maybe we could hook up and find our way there together, looks like we got something in common already, what do you say?’

‘I say that’s an interesting chat-up line, but I’m not interested. Sorry.’ 

‘Chat up line…? Well, if you’re offering…’

‘No, I said. I’m not. I wasn’t. But you’re right, yeah, we’ve got things in common. More than you might think. More than you’d want to think, really.’ The Doctor frowned, sniffed the air, nodded at Harkness’ wrist. ‘That’s an interesting watch. Modern, for all the casing looks old.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Futuristic, you might say.’

‘What, this little old thing?’

‘Yeah, that little old thing.’ 

The Doctor glanced towards the kitchen area where Stuart and Vince were engrossed in the coffee machine, almost flirting over it, before sliding his sonic screwdriver from his pocket. He twisted it, and pointed it at the watch. A shrill wavering of the air, inaudible, and a tiny puff of smoke emerged from the case with a sigh. 

Harkness jumped, shook his wrist, swore mildly. 

‘Don’t worry, I’ve only shorted out the pheromone circuits. Funny things, artificial pheromones. Just send you after the one that looks the most promising. Don’t take existing arrangements into account, if you see what I mean.’

‘I don’t know what…’

‘Yeah, you do.’

‘Well…’ Harkness shrugged. ‘Maybe I do. How’d you know?’

‘Well, flattered and all, but I wasn’t the bloke you came in with, now, was I?’ The Doctor wandered towards the windows, taking the discussion further away from where Vince and Stuart were now busy at the cooker. He turned, putting his back to the light, saw Jack had followed him as he’d intended. ‘So it had to be something apart from my charm and magnetic good looks… and then the fact that I found my already-gorgeous date from last night even sexier in the bright light of day… it had to be pheromones. What else could it be? And that isn’t just any old pheromone delivery system, there’s a lot more going on there than you’d like to admit to in this day and age… and I can’t help wondering why you’re so interested in Clitheroe…?’

‘Could say the same, John Smith.’

‘I asked first. And I’m not the one with the wrist-mounted multi-function time-displacement and pick-up device, now, am I?’

‘It’s a little sensitive…’ The captain raised his eyebrows in an eloquent face-shrug and proffered a card in a leather wallet. ‘I’m sure that explains everything…?’

The doctor looked at the blank card. Letters tried to form, squiggled away into invisibility; that, and the far-too innocently-scruffy device on Harkness’ wrist made him think he’d found his rogue time agent.

Now all he had to do was work out what to do about it…

‘Well, it goes a long way towards an explanation, I’d say.’ He gave a broad, close-mouthed smile and closed the wallet with the blank card, handing it back. ‘Sausage shop.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Clitheroe. Famous sausage shop, love a good sausage, me.’ He raised his voice to call across to the kitchen area. ‘Vince, pet, did you say you got sausages or that you didn’t get sausages?’

‘What?’ Vince turned with a laugh. ‘No. Saving it for Clitheroe… anyway, this is ready. Come on, grab a plate.’

‘Pet?’ Stuart asked, softly deadly. ‘Did he just call you pet…?’

‘You all right, Stuart?’ Vince asked. ‘You look a bit… you know.’

Stuart recollected himself. One-night-stand, looked like that John Smith fellow and Jack were getting on well, nothing to worry about there, probably. ‘Yeah, yeah, just worry about you, never know what you’re going to bring home… come on, I need something to eat…’

‘He’s nice, Stuart!’ Vince grinned. ‘He’s really, really nice, and he’s…’ Breaking off, he shook his head. ‘Mind, yours looks all right… and still here, he must have something special, eh?’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know? Come to think of it, be glad to get shot of him now. Take him with you when you go, eh? And hurry up with that bacon!’

*

Silence fell, broken at first only by the sound of cutlery on china as the four gathered around the table. Even after tea and toast, Vince found he did, indeed, have an appetite for bacon and eggs made into messy sandwiches, especially when Stuart grabbed his sandwich-filled hand and pulled it to his own mouth to take out a huge bite that burst the yoke of the egg Vince had carefully folded into the bread.

‘Better than the egg you made me, God! What did you do? Nice, Vince…’

‘Stuart! Look at the mess…! There’s egg everywhere!’

‘S’all right, lick your fingers, shall I…?’

‘Stu-art! You’ve got guests!’

‘Lick their own fingers, or each other’s, I don’t care, c’mon, give us another bite… mmm…’

Wrapped up in Stuart’s affectionate behaviour, Vince didn’t notice the wary lack of conversation, almost a truce between Jack and the Doctor; they seemed determined not to interact with each other beyond the most basic of communications. The Doctor got on with his food, tried to ignore the way Stuart was almost eating Vince’s fingers, his fluttering eyelashes, the way Vince blushed and tried not to show how much he liked the attention; it was the pheromones from the alleged Captain Harkness, he knew what was causing it; despite destroying the lust mechanism in the wrist device, the chemicals already in the air were still at work, would take a bit of time to dissipate.

Finally, Stuart let go of his friend’s breakfast and turned his attention to his own.

‘Pass the sauce,’ he demanded of the table, glancing across at the Doctor as if remembering he was here, as if he were an enemy. ‘Want some sauce… John?’

‘No, thanks. Too much like blood, if you ask me.’

‘Vince, this friend of yours colour blind? That’s the brown sauce…’

‘Ah, well,’ the Doctor said, defending himself. ‘Not everyone bleeds red, you know…’

‘Spiders. They have blue blood, I saw it on telly. And in “Star Trek: The Undiscovered Country”, they made the Klingons bleed bright pink, so they could get a PG certificate for the movie,’ Vince piped up. ‘Looked like Calpol, it did, floating in zero gravity across the dark space ship… Mind, I can’t abide Calpol…’

‘This is a charming conversation to have over breakfast!’ Jack put in.

‘Fair enough,’ the Doctor retorted. ‘Why don’t you pick a topic…? I know, let’s talk about why you want to visit Clitheroe, shall we?’

‘What the fuck is it with Clitheroe?’ Stuart asked. ‘Jack wants to get there but won’t say why, will you, Jack? And now your… friend, Vince, he wants to get there too?’

‘I told him, I said,’ the Doctor nodded over at Jack. ‘Sausage shop. Famous, it is…’

‘Well, I’m not going to any sausage shop, Mr Smith, I just happen to have business there…’

‘Oho, so it’s business, is it?’ The Doctor nodded. ‘Fair enough. What sort of business?

‘Tell you what, offer me a lift, if you’ve got transport…’

‘I have, yeah, but…’

‘Very kind of you… John. What about these two?’ Jack gestured towards Vince and Stuart. ‘Two’s a company and all that?’

‘What?’ Vince blurted. ‘You can’t mean… him…? D… John, not in your… your…um… blue number…?’

‘Well, I seem to remember I offered you a ride, you didn’t seem that keen, really…’

‘I didn’t… I wouldn’t… I… but… you’re…’

‘Yeah. I know. You wouldn’t. And I’m not. It’s fine, Vince. Teasing. Offer’s still there.’

‘What offer’s this, then?’ Stuart put his elbows on the table and leaned in towards his friend, rubbing shoulders with him; Vince could feel the body heat of him through his thin blue and white shirt. ‘Going to Clitheroe as well, were you? Why don’t we all go? Take the Jeep, be there in time for lunch… drop off these two tossers…’

‘Oy!’ the Doctor put in. ‘Speak for yourself, he might be a tosser, not me, no need… Actually, though, that’s a good idea, all go in your Jeep, Stuart. Easier, it’d mean going back into the centre of Manchester and I’m parked a bit awkward…’

Vince seemed to find something about this especially entertaining, snorting coffee down his nose, but Stuart was still on the defensive where Vince was concerned and didn’t seem to notice.

‘I was being sarcastic, I didn’t mean it… but what the fuck, someone’s got to keep an eye on things, I suppose. Don’t want Vince here getting into trouble, not sure I like the look of you, John. I mean, John Smith, what kind of name’s that?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Probably more likely than, say… Captain Jack Harkness…’

Recovered now, Vince shook his head.

‘Stop it, you two… you three! Let’s just play nice, all right? Stuart, love to go to Clitheroe in the Jeep with you, if you think we can get there without these two killing each other…’

‘Really not my style,’ Captain Jack said in his easy drawl. ‘And I think our friend here’s probably not up for out-and-out-murder…’

‘Try me,’ the Doctor said. ‘But. Yeah, okay, Vince. Playing nice, just for you. Happy to go in the Jeep if… if you’ll give me a hand with my ride later, yeah?’

Vince nodded. ‘Yes, think I can manage that.’

*

‘So, we ready, or what?’ Stuart pushed back from the table with a sudden burst of energy, as if he couldn’t bear to sit any longer, abandoning his dirty dishes and sashaying towards the door. ‘Come on, I don’t have all day…’

‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ Vince said. ‘Just want to wash my hands. Got egg yolk between my fingers. Can’t think how…’

He picked up his and the Doctor’s plates and slid them into the sink on his way past, smiling to himself. He just needed a minute, really, to calm himself; the little electric hits of Stuart’s hand on his wrist, lips on his fingers as he went to bite the sandwich, and then the Doctor’s continued interest… the way Stuart had seemed to be, well, almost jealous… of course, if he knew… only that was the thing, he could never know, could he? Although if anyone would believe him it’d be Stuart… maybe this was the start, though, Stuart’s change of attitude, and then knowing Vince could have gone off with the Doctor but stayed with him, it could go anywhere…

So intent was he on his thoughts that he made his way automatically to the washbasin in the bathroom and was in the process of shaking the excess water from his hands, glancing round for a towel when he actually focussed on the mirror, saw his reflected face framed by the lurid outline of a heart, done in differing thicknesses of red, purple and orange lines with green lettering splattered across it.

‘SAJ +CJH 4EVA’

Time stopped as Vince’s world crashed down around him and his happy thoughts of a few moments earlier shattered into dust around him.


	6. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vince confronts Stuart's artwork...

Vince’s mouth formed words; he saw himself mouthing them, his lips changing shape around his stricken face, but no sound came out. Suddenly all the nice little touches, the extra-friendly words and affection from Stuart over was like knives on his skin. He stared at his stunned mirror-self, his thoughts splitting into several strands. On one level, a mantra of ‘Oh, my God…’ was rolling around, repeated, again and again, a litany of disbelief. On another, there was the crashing bewilderment – why would Stuart be so nice and then leave these... these blatant, torturing words here, on the mirror? A more sensible, adult part of him was sighing to himself – the pens again, why didn’t Stuart lock the pens away when he went out, I’ve told him, lock the pens away, it’s always the pens… 

From somewhere deep in his heart, a small voice said something hopeful and impossible about maybe it hadn’t been Stuart after all, maybe it was this American bloke, but its voice was small and drowned out by the riot of colour, the brazen noise of them on the mirror. All this followed with a sinking sense of dread that made him feel worse, if that was possible, the realisation that people – Stuart – SAJ + CJH – would be waiting for him and I won’t cry, mustn’t cry, silly to cry, too old for all that now anyway it’s just Stuart, he gets a bit, well, silly… he didn’t mean it… he wouldn’t have meant it, he doesn’t do repeats, he never does repeats…

But what if… even if Stuart hadn’t meant it like that, not with this Captain Jack, what if… what if it was Stuart’s way of… of letting him no, no chance Vince, not ever, you’re only good enough to be a friend, to bring me bacon, to cook my breakfast, not to be meaningful in any way, you’re never going to get your name written on the mirror in rubbish neon green in a purple and orange heart…

‘Vince? You there? Only your friend’s getting imp…’

The Doctor’s voice trailed off. Vince took a heaving breath and bit down hard on his emotions.

‘Blimey! What’s going on there, then?’

‘It’s Stuart… he’s got these pens… for work, he brings them home, and when he’s drunk or…’ Vince broke to breathe, to control his voice, to try, at least. ‘He gets a bit… artistic and… carried away…’

‘You all right?’ The Doctor approached, put out his arms and gathered Vince in to a hug, deliberately talking to give the youngster time to recover a bit. ‘Come here, come on. It’ll have been the pheromones. Your Stuart didn’t stand a chance. Artificial pheromones in that wrist unit the captain has, air was thick with them, must have been worse in the night… he’s a bit dodgy, that pretend-American bloke, I think. No, that doesn’t begin to cover it… think I found my rogue time agent, some of the things on that wrist unit of his...’

‘Pheromones…?’ Vince managed, allowing himself to be hugged and cuddled, listening to the syncopated samba rhythm of the twin hearts, soothing and uplifting at the same time, upbeating his mood away from wretched misery. ‘Like moths…? Like, actual pheremones? That moths have? That work on people?’

‘Yeah, like moths have, for people. He wouldn’t have been able to resist. Anyway, it’s you he likes, Vince.’ Cursing himself for being honest when he’d rather, much rather, not be, the Doctor went on. ‘Broad scatter, you see. Fixes on the person you’re most drawn to in the room. Worked fine for the captain when there was only them two here, but soon as we got here, he was all over you, your Stuart. Like a rash, he was. Lost interest in Captain Jack Flash, there. And breakfast? Eating your fingers, I nearly told you to get a room. It’s you he wants, Vince. You. One day, you and him, light up the sky, you will.’

‘No, you don’t… Stuart… he doesn’t… doesn’t do boyfriends.’ Vince’s voice was muffled, slow against the Doctor’s chest. Safe, he felt, safe, better, warm and loved and this was better, wasn’t it, than waiting and never being good enough…? And the Doctor was magnificent… ‘One night stands, that’s his limit. Surprised the captain lasted this long…’

‘That’ll have been…’

‘…the pheromones?’

‘Yeah. Feeling better yet?’

Yes, he was, but he wasn’t going to admit. Not for a minute or two. It was so nice here.

‘Can… you know… your offer… is it still open? Can I come with you?’

‘Course you can, yeah.’ Over Vince’s head, the Doctor frowned. Much though he wanted Vince to run off with him, the timing was a bit off… whatever Stuart thought of Vince, there was no doubt Vince thought a whole world of him if he was prepared to run away as a result of some drunken, chemically-induced scrawl on a mirror. ‘If you’re sure. If it’s not just… no, even if you’re not sure, we can set off, just say the word if you want to turn back.’

‘Was thinking, what you said. What I said. That you’d can bring me back to the same moment, but time would have passed for me, well, that’s what I need, a bit of time, a couple of days, weeks, perhaps, just to… to forget and… I know I can’t ever un-see this, I know it sounds daft, but it’s Stuart and… and if you had some way to call your TARDIS up here, now…’

‘Yeah. That’d be good. That’d be a really handy trick, wouldn’t it? I can’t, Vince, I’m sorry. You’re going to have to face your friend. He’ll probably be feeling a bit silly about it by now, won’t he? Sit in the back with me, then you won’t have to talk to him, if you want, but…’

‘You’re right.’ From outside, below, a tirade of blasts on a car horn echoed off the face of the building. ‘That’s Stuart. In the Jeep, waiting. Better go.’

‘Yeah, okay.’

But Vince still clung to the Doctor’s chest.

‘When you’re ready, Vince. There’s time. What’s he going to do, go without us? We could make our own way to where I parked the TARDIS, have a quick pootle round the galaxy, meet them outside the sausage shop in Clitheroe, if you like.’

This made Vince chuckle, and release his hold enough for them to start moving.

‘I’d love that… but… Stuart… Do you think I should clean the mirror? I’ll clean the mirror, shall I?’

The Doctor shook his head.

‘Leave it. That way, you can tease him about it, and then you’ll both feel better. Otherwise, if you clean it off, he might remember it was there, and know you’ve seen it, and be wondering what you thought. Well, if he’s half as nice as you tell me he is, he would.’

‘Of course he’s nice, he’s lovely…’

All of him, lovely, completely lovely, Stuart said so himself.

Vince sighed his way out of the Doctor’s comforting arms. Perhaps that was the way to get through this, turn the hurt into laughter, hide behind it.

*

Stuart hit the horn again. He had the weird feeling of a hangover only without the memories of being drunk or high. His face was scowling, even though he knew it would make lines, spoil his skin.

_C’mon, Vince, what you doing up there, testing out the fucking mattress? With him? You and him? What’s the attraction anyway, not your type, is he?  
Come to think of it, Vince didn’t have a type, other than blokes. Didn’t seem to matter to him, only thing that mattered was if they liked him, seemed to be. And he didn’t seem interested in copping off half the time anyway, so he was bound to get the dregs, wasn’t he?_

Not that this bloke seemed quite that bad. Seemed to sort of like him. Better watch him, didn’t want Vince getting in over his head. 

What the fuck was keeping him, anyway?

Stuart leaned on the horn again.

‘Do you have to?’ Jack asked from the back seat, leaning forward onto the back of the passenger seat and dropping his head on his folded arms. ‘Pretty noisy, you know.’

‘It’s not my fault, it’s Vince, Vince keeping us waiting, if he’s got that lift stuck again…’

Then Vince emerged onto the street, his friend John Smith following close. Bodyguard, almost. Stuart drew breath to snark, but before he could say anything, Vince had bent forward, rubbing his hands together as he approached, a manic grin on his face.

‘Oh-ho!’ he called over. ‘Your cleaning lady’s going to love you! SAJ and CJH forever! Twat! What a twat!’

‘Steady on,’ Stuart protested. ‘It was the pens, it’s not my fault, nobody stopped me, he didn’t stop me, why doesn’t anybody ever stop me…?’

Vince laughed, shook his head, and slid into the seat next to Stuart.

‘Twat,’ he said again, affectionately.

‘Why should anybody stop you?’ the Doctor said, climbing in next to Jack. ‘Come on, Captain. Shove up.’

‘What do you mean, why…?’ Stuart began, the Doctor cutting over him.

‘You’re a grown up, you’re old enough to drive and have a flat and bring blokes back. You’re old enough to colour inside the lines, aren’t you? I must say, it was very decorative. Nice sense of colour. Bit garish, but…’

‘Shut up! Where are we going again?’

‘Clitheroe,’ Vince told him. ‘And while we’re there, let’s look for some Windowlene, shall we?’


	7. Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stuart and Vince drive the Doctor and Captain Jack to Clitheroe...

Stuart blinked. He’d forgotten about the pens running away with his hands, wouldn’t have expected Vince to say anything anyway, even if he hadn’t already forgotten the nocturnal graffiti session, put it out of his mind as something for the cleaners, maybe get the place redecorated if he had to… he curled his lip in what began as a sneer but cracked into almost a grin as he realised Vince was actually joking about it. 

‘Not my fault,’ he said. ‘The pens, they…’

‘They come to life in the dead of drunk and hurl themselves into your hand, yeah? And you can’t stop them… you are such a twat!’

‘Yeah. You keep saying.’

‘Anyway, what you wrote?’ Vince couldn’t help asking; the best he could do was try to keep a laugh in his voice. ‘You and him? “Forever”?’

‘For a few hours. Then he ran out of steam. They do tend to, the big types. Disappointing. You find that?’

‘No, I didn’t, actually.’ Vince couldn’t help but preen a little. ‘You must have got a faulty one. Unlucky, that’s you.’

‘So you had a good night, then? All right, is he?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, he’s all right.’

‘Oi!’ The Doctor leaned forward, resting his folded arms on the back corners of Vince and Stuart’s seats, his breath drifting warm on Vince’s neck as he spoke. ‘Will you two keep it down if you’re going to talk about us? Not deaf back here.’

‘Not surprised, those ears,’ Stuart muttered.

‘All the better to hear you with, naturally. And while we’re on the subject, yeah, I am all right as a matter of fact, I’m very all right. Your friend’s safe with me. So you just concentrate on the road, you can compare notes later, _all right_?’

He leaned back and ignored the look Stuart gave Vince, as if it was his fault, saw Captain Jack grinning at him.

‘Don’t know what you’re smirking about, apparently you ran out of steam…’

‘Ah, just letting the little human catch his breath a bit, that’s all. Fragile egos they have, don’t they?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I suppose they do. And they don’t always realise it. So we have to play nice with them, all right?’

‘Now, look, if you’re trying to blame me for the pens…’

‘Never mind that now.’ The Doctor settled back in his seat and stared blankly at the passing scenery. ‘I’m going to think for a bit; there’s still the puzzle of why we’re both headed to Clitheroe to solve…’

Of course his mind wandered. Hard not to, with occasional words and phrases drifting back from the front seat, to be snatched away by the air before he could properly make sense of them. Vince’s tone, though, was light, almost happy, so perhaps he’d got over the worst of the upset. Or maybe he was good at pretending. 

It struck the Doctor that maybe Vince had had to learn to be good at pretending, so much so that he maybe didn’t even notice anymore and that seemed wrong, somehow, and very, very sad.

Vince wouldn’t pretend with him though, would he? He’d know, anyway, see straight through any little human monkey-business, he’d had enough practice by now. But Vince, sad and hiding it, wasn’t a good thought. Perhaps taking him away might not be a good idea after all, perhaps it would just give him more to pretend about…

Except how would he know, if he didn’t at least try…?

‘Clitheroe…’ Captain Jack’s voice intruded on his thoughts and although he turned with a rebuke and a frown, really, he wasn’t that sorry to be interrupted… ‘Got a castle and a famous…’

‘…sausage shop, yeah.’

‘And it’s playing host to a science fiction fair, festival of some sort.’ Jack pressed buttons on his wrist unit and it shot out a skein of light that hit the back of Stuart’s seat and resolved into a screen display in a non-human language that made the Doctor’s eyes water as he made it make sense. ‘Not sure how that’s relevant, but it’s a good cover for any aliens, isn’t it? Pretend to be in costume only it’s actually a very, very realistic costume…’

‘…models and miniatures from “Star Trek”, whatever that is, “Space 1999”, “Lost in Space” and “Doctor Who”…’ the Doctor read. ‘Blimey! Now, there’s nothing like a coincidence to get my suspicions going…’

‘Not sure what you mean,’ Jack said.

‘You come here a lot? Watch their TV and videos, talk to the locals about what’s good and what isn’t?’ the Doctor began, with all the authority of one who had just discovered the intricacies of TV programming the night before. ‘There’s a show, “Doctor Who”, based on the actual life of a Time Lord and his misadventures. Reality TV, only here they think…’ he lowered his voice. ‘They think it’s fiction. Reality is, never trust a Betelgeuse Broadcasting executive when he says “local galaxy rights only”…’

‘Well, here’s another coincidence; the venue seems to be right over the co-ordinates I had for my meeting last night. So there’s something going on… seems like a set-up to me…’

‘Yeah, but you know how it is; we deal in fractions, in millimetres, in split-second timing; chances are whatever they – whoever “they” are - have missed their chance. We’ll need to be careful, of course.’

‘Of course… fully armed and ready to fire.’

‘Bragging again?’

‘What are you armed with?’

‘My wit, my charm, and half a packet of Jelly Babies Vince stuffed in my coat pocket when he thought I wasn’t looking. What else would I need?’

Jack shook his head, smiling to himself, and shut off the screen projection just as the jeep slowed to a stop for traffic lights.

‘So we head for this science-fiction thing and then…’

‘Science fiction thing?’ Stuart turned round from the front seat. ‘So that’s the attraction, is it, Vince, this chap’s taking you to fill up on your Doctor Who fantasies??’

‘No, I… well, I… I didn’t know a thing about any science fiction… thing…’ Vince managed. ‘I…’

With an exaggerated sigh the Doctor removed the small wallet holding his psychic paper. He flashed it under Stuart’s eyes.

‘There!’ he said, his voice clipped and short with sarcasm. ‘Does that help at all?’

‘Futuristic Prod… oh, my god….’ Stuart took Vince’s catchphrase and span it out in a long, silken drawl. ‘You? You’re a sci-fi production scout?’

‘That’s me. John Smith, production scouting a speciality.’

‘No wonder Vince took you home, then. What happened, spend the night watching Doctor Who videos?’

‘Some of it. Other things to do as well, though. Come on, lights have changed, pay attention. Off we go.’

‘Off we go, then,’ Stuart muttered, and began paying at least some attention to the road in between covert glances at Vince who didn’t seem quite to know what expression to wear at the moment.

The rest of the journey passed in odd, disjointed questions and exchanges as traffic permitted.

‘Name them, then,’ Stuart threw over his shoulder.

‘What?’

‘The Doctors. In Doctor Who. Bet you can’t name them.’

‘Don’t be daft! He’s the Doctor, that’s his name. You couldn’t pronounce his real name. Secret, anyway, don’t you know anything?’

‘The actors. Twat.’ (this last under his breath) ‘Who played them?’

‘Oh. Oh, I get it.’ Unseen by Stuart, the Doctor made desperate mimes at Jack and his wrist unit. ‘Don’t see what’s so clever about that. I mean, memorising a list of names, how hard can it be?’

‘It’s not memorising… anyway, go on. Name them. I can.’

‘Course you can. And if I rattle them off, you’ll say, yes, exactly right, but how does it prove you know them yourself?’

‘I don’t have to prove…’

‘Boys, boys!’ Vince’s laugh was nervous, tense. ‘There’s no need to…’

The Doctor took a deep breath as, unseen by Stuart or Vince, Jack’s wrist unit flashed a display onto the back of Stuart’s seat.

‘William Hartnell, Patrick Troughton, John Pertwee. Your turn…’

‘Easy. Tom Baker, Peter Davidson…’

‘Wrong!’

‘What the fu…?’

‘DavISon, Peter DavISon. Colin Baker, Sylvester McCoy…’

‘Paul McGann but he doesn’t count…’

‘And…?’

‘I said, Paul McGann…’

‘Christopher Eccleston…’ The Doctor broke off as Jack cut the display, shaking his head frantically just as he realised the date next to Eccleston’s name hadn’t actually happened yet. ‘Oops,’ he said. ‘Spoilers. Just pretend I never said anything…’

‘There’s going to be another series?’ Vince jumped on the idea, turning round in his seat. ‘Why didn’t you say? I mean, I know why, but you must have…’

‘Sorry.’ The Doctor raised his eyebrows and smiled with a shrug. ‘Didn’t think. It might not happen, anyway. Funding and stuff.’

‘What’s he then, another producer’s lackey?’ Stuart called over his shoulder, a twitch towards Jack indicating his meaning.

‘You should know, he’s your boyfriend…’

‘He’s not. Don’t do boyfriends. Anyway, you two, back there together, thick as thieves…’

‘In fact, I’m in a similar line,’ Jack put in. ‘Not quite the same. But there’s some overlap. Thanks for the clarity, by the way; saves me worrying about whether or not you’re going to pine when I leave you.’

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Stuart muttered. ‘Just because the pens ran away with me and you drugged me or something…’

‘Yes, because that’s what I do, I go around drugging innocent… drugging people.’

‘Clitheroe, five miles!’ Vince spotted a road sign and interrupted the bitching. ‘Wonder whereabouts this convention is, then?’

‘Dunno,’ Stuart replied, allowing himself to be diverted from Jack. ‘But we see it at work, they throw up marquees on any old bit of land, probably be up at the castle. Or isn’t there a hall here, somewhere?’

Entering the outskirts of Clitheroe a few minutes later, Stuart spotted a yellow banner reading ‘Infinity CosmoCon’ and followed its pointing arrow.

‘Seem to be going away from the castle,’ Vince said, glancing up at the fortified hill away from which they were now heading. ‘Still. They have to have facilities, don’t they?’

*

Eventually the signs led them into a tired industrial estate and towards what looked like nothing more than a warehouse with a few signs outside. Its car park was empty, the main gates closed. Stuart parked up and shook his head.

‘Looks popular,’ he said.

‘Oh, don’t!’ Vince said, getting out and following after the Doctor and Jack, who had gone to look for another way in. ‘It’s all a bit… all the way over, you know I like people to get on…’

‘Yeah, well, it’s not my fault if I end up with a car full of argumentative tossers, is it? Not when I was just being nice, like you said. Clitheroe, all the way to Clitheroe for fucking what?’

‘It’s nice here. Well, not here, but the run out. Lots of green. And a castle. And…’

‘Yeah, I know, sausage shop. And last night’s leftovers getting cosy together… good job we’d finished with them, eh?’

‘Speak for yourself, we’ve got plans, me and… John.’

‘Oh yeah? Well, don’t go getting into any trouble, your mum’ll kill me, always blames me, don’t know why, it’s never my fault…’

‘It’s fine. John’s fine, he’s just… he understands… things. And he’s… nice.’

A strange sound, almost too high for human ears, and the gate creaked and clanged as Jack hauled it open and the Doctor – John Smith – turned to grin and beckon.

‘Welcome to the Infinity CosmoCon, or at least, what’s left of it. Come and have a look around, see if there’s actually anything going on here…’


End file.
